I wish you wouldn't look for me in my poems
Contrary to popular belief,
I wish you would look for yourself in them

Screams echo through the forest in my mind
Laughter can be heard for miles above the trees
Love blooms all the flowers beneath all the shadows casted by the branches of overseen lies.
Waterfalls of emotion turn into streams of anger that flow through the mountains like the blood flows through my veins.
The lake gives everything the forest needs for survival, continuously pumping and providing the land with all the necessary motivation.
The mountain tops are cold and blue
Seeing over everything.
Observing joyfully.
Watching.
The wind is my life.
Breezing by never stopping time.
night is my death
when all is put to rest
sleeping for eternity

You know what I mean
that person who seems
to you in your dreams
a bit more than lust
but just shy of love
who can drive you mad
with only one glance
and I'm not talking about
getting into those pants
no, what I mean is
something beyond desire
more than a fire
but not quite the one
that would leave you broken
hearted and alone if she danced
with every man in the room
but, man, I sure do like the way
those butterflies in her *******
make me feel like a lepidopterist
rather than an archaeologist.

I always feared thunderstorms
Lightning has killed many trees I loved

I understand that lightning
is a necessity as it replenishes
the nitrogen in the soil

But it destroys to create life

Tonight the thunderstorms roll
The thunder remains high
just growling low
as the lightning skips from cloud
to cloud

Then all at once
a bolt hits close by
and the thunder
kabooms . . .
rattling windows
Making your heart
skip several beats

The wind picks up
the sirens go off
and you chek out the radar

You breathe a sigh of relief
as the approaching storm splits
and goes around you .

It rains hard . . .

Then it stops . . .
so has the wind

Aloft the clouds
are race horses
galloping away as fast as they can

They have business elsewhere

Now all is quiet
a feeling of relief
soaks in unlike
the water running
rushing down the sides of the street

An after the storm moment
of peace when the air feels as clean
as the thoughts you . . . you don't have

I fill my mind with his voice
until I can not hear anything else
spend my days practicing what his hands would feel like
as they graze my skin
pretend how his lips would move as they mouth
my name

I take his hands, place the fragile key to my thoughts into his grasp
I let him open me, take out the fragments of my soul he finds intriguing
and keep them

I wrap my delicate hands around his strong neck
until he can not speak
and beg him to say he loves me